


as good a place to fall as any

by openended



Series: give peas a chance [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Healers, Kissing, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time she touches him, she’s bandaging a wound on his shoulder. It's at least nine more before she finally kisses him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as good a place to fall as any

The first time she touches him, she’s bandaging a wound on his shoulder.

(The actual first time she touches him, she's grabbing his arm to keep from completely losing her balance and tumbling down a cliff into the sea; but the first time she intentionally touches him, she’s bandaging a wound on his shoulder.)

He’s wise enough not to comment that she needs to stand on a bench to reach him, even when he’s sitting. Not wise enough to charge out of the way of an incoming shield bash, but wise enough to keep silent on the matter of their height differences. Small victories.

(She’s not entirely one to talk about getting out of the way, what with having to chop off her fringe after Corypheus’ pet got a bit too close with its flames.)

“We have a healer,” Solas says.

“Yes. At Skyhold.” Ellara bends down to the wooden bowl at her feet and scoops some of the poultice onto her fingers. “Which is not where we are.” 

She’s focused on Bull’s shoulder, but can feel Solas’ eyes narrow in disapprovement. As fun as it is, she doesn't poke the elf any further, at least for now. Save it for Skyhold or, better yet, when they're in the middle of a bog or a sand dune and he has no escape.

Treating Bull isn't so much different from treating the Carta warriors, just on a much larger scale. She frowns: her Carta patients wouldn't stay put either. “Hold still.” 

“That stings.”

“Yes.  _Hold still_ .”

***

The second, third, fourth  _and_ fifth times she touches him, she’s standing on a chair (or a rock or a table or a precariously-stacked collection of books), patching him up again.

“This is becoming a bad habit of yours,” she lightly scolds him with a smile on the fifth time, working on a particularly nasty cut over his good eye.

“Maybe I like the view.”

She can’t help the smile that slowly breaks across her face. She bites her lip in attempt to keep from all-out grinning.

Cassandra makes a noise that might have been an effort to cover up a laugh but sounds eerily similar to a strangled bear.

Ellara looks over her shoulder, her smile turning into a smirk. “I’ve seen what you read.”

She flushes, but holds up her hand in defeat and becomes very focused on sharpening her sword.

Ellara bends down just slightly so she can whisper and only Bull will hear. “There  _are_ less painful ways of enjoying the view.”

***

The sixth, eighth, and ninth times, she’s bolder now and brushes her fingertips across his arm when they’re examining a map by the campfire, or having drinks at Skyhold’s tavern. 

(The seventh time, she’s using him as a ladder to boost herself high enough to catch the landing of the shack’s upper floor. It’s only when she’s up there that Varric points out the perfectly useful  _actual_ ladder four feet away.)

She’s careful to keep it hidden - people can’t ask about what they haven’t seen, and she can’t stammer an answer about what isn’t asked. But Bull turns his palm over as her fingers coast across his wrist. His calloused fingers curl and catch against hers, a fleeting second, but a second all the same.

Josephine comments on the frequency of the Inquisitor’s smiles the next time Ellara’s in her office for an update.

“Do I need a reason?” It comes out before she can reel it in - Josie’s always been nice to her, and she considers her a friend - but her tone’s softer, less confrontational than she feared it would be.

Josephine smiles. She understands secrets.

***

She’s way past the tenth time when she finally kisses him. 

It’s impulse, and probably not a little bit stupid. They’ve been discreet so far, in whatever it is that they’re doing, but she’s tired and cold and sore, and he’s banged up in more places than she’d like. And it’s entirely her fault. 

She’d gotten them lost and wandered past a particularly nasty rift that shat out demons just as she and Bull stepped far enough away from Blackwall and Dorian to become separated. Though she tried to stay at range, the demons kept shrieking and rushing straight to her. If it weren’t for Bull standing beside her, stepping between her and every demon strike, she’d be a very dead dwarf.

Her hands shake as she cleans the wound across his cheek. She tries to hide it with a deep breath, but he notices.

(Of course he notices, he’s been paying attention.)

Bull covers her hands with one of his. “You okay, Boss?”

He’s warmer than she is, even half-dressed and battle-exhausted, and just his touch on her hands starts to settle them.

She ducks her head and kisses him. Soft, fleeting, probably barely even a kiss by anyone’s standards but her own. But it’s her wind-chapped lips against his, and warmth starts to work its way through her veins. Without a word, she pulls her hands away and returns her attentions to his injuries.

Bull turns, and she’s about to ask him to move back so she can reach, but his hand cups the back of her head and pulls her in for a searing kiss. She’s definitely warm now, and she lifts up onto her toes, leaning into the kiss and his touch as his fingers tangle in her hair. She distantly realizes that she’s still holding her bowl, and that she’s about to lose her balance. Bull’s other hand settles on her lower back, steadying her. 

She pulls away, needing a breath, and blinks, momentarily at a loss for words. It’s been a very long time since anyone kissed her like that. 

Dorian mutters something that sounds suspiciously like  _about time_ .

She ignores it, and the money that Blackwall begrudgingly digs out of his thigh satchel and places in Dorian’s open hand.

“We should do that somewhere in private,” Ellara whispers, voice huskier than usual. She swallows, and hopes the  _and more_ is obvious.

By the lewd smirk Bull levels at her, he very much understands that she means more than just kissing. The warmth turns into a hot flush and creeps up into her cheeks.

“I’d like that,” he says, low just for her. 

She flashes him a crooked smile, and kisses him once again - gentle and quick - before tilting his head the way she needs to finish patching him up.


End file.
